


before i love you (i'm gonna leave you)

by lostresidentevilpotter



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostresidentevilpotter/pseuds/lostresidentevilpotter
Summary: “The world’s over, isn’t it?”“For some people.”“Not for you?”Isabelle’s jaw clenches. “Not for me.”Canon to 5x05. Al/Isabelle.
Relationships: Althea/Isabelle (Fear the Walking Dead)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	before i love you (i'm gonna leave you)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic addresses some of the things I would've loved to see in 5x05. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> The title is from Takeaway by the Chainsmokers.

She almost kills Al, then saves her, then almost kills her again.

She almost kills Isabelle, then saves her, then almost kills her again.

By the time the sun sets on their first day together, it’s getting pretty tiring, this back and forth thing. But Al has had worse days. She’s spent time with worse people. She’s been closer to death before. She sits in their tent, suspended over the dead, and takes inventory of herself. Her wrists are bruised and rubbed raw. She discovers her foot’s ripped to shreds when she changes the bandages, and it begins to ache again as she jams her boot back on. There’s fresh blood on her forehead, so she must’ve accidentally reopened the cut she’d received in the crash.

And Isabelle watched the tape. Al flinches at the thought; no one besides herself has ever seen that tape – until today. Al’s eyes sting, but she quickly blinks it away. She hasn’t cried since everything ended, and she doesn’t plan on starting again now. Isabelle shifts around a few feet to Al’s left, reminding her that she’s crammed in a small space with a woman she hardly knows. A woman that murdered her partner in cold blood. A woman that Al knows next to nothing about – she doesn’t even know her name.

Al glances over at Isabelle, grunting in her sleep. There’s no reason for Al to sit up and keep watch. They’re as safe as they can probably ever get, more than just out of the reach of the dead. But Al can’t sleep. She chalks it up to Isabelle’s presence, as unlikely as it is that Isabelle will wake up and decide to kill Al while she sleeps. Isabelle still needs the tape that proves she – and her organization – exists.

Al touches her hand to her breast pocket, to where _The Bog #7_ currently rests. It’s still there, like it’s been every other time Al has checked. She exhales shakily and lays down for the first time since they got into the tent. She tries to keep her eyes trained straight up, but every time Isabelle shifts, or exhales too loudly, Al startles. Al changes her strategy, rolls onto her side facing Isabelle, and watches her instead. After a minute, Al realizes watching Isabelle sleep is pretty creepy, but she can’t make herself look away. Al’s heart beats in her throat. Her body’s on alert, like Isabelle’s gonna pop up and shoot her.

Isabelle snores, and Al almost jumps out of her skin. She’d feel better if she was armed, but Isabelle was _incredibly_ thorough when she searched Al for any weapons. All Al has on her is _The Bog #7_. She touches her fingertips to the tape in her pocket once more and forces her eyes to close. She needs some amount of sleep if she’s going to be able to climb in the morning. She lies awake for what feels like forever, unable to get comfortable.

Al doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she remembers the dream. The next thing she knows, someone’s grasping onto her arms. Al’s eyes open, and her body tenses as her eyes land on Isabelle’s face.

“Let go,” Al says through her teeth. To her surprise, Isabelle obeys. She releases Al’s arms and shifts back. Al sits up and immediately touches her chest. Isabelle gives her a funny look, but Al sighs in relief when her fingertips nudge the tape in her pocket.

“You were talking,” Isabelle says.

“Huh?”

“In your sleep. You were saying something.”

Al freezes. “What did I say?”

Isabelle shrugs. “Don’t know. Couldn’t understand you. Come on. We need to get moving.”

*

Al doesn’t exactly want to be dangling off the side of a cliff, and she doesn’t exactly want to be the only thing preventing Isabelle from falling to a near-certain death, but she also doesn’t have a choice. Her injured foot throbs in her boot, her wrists ache, and her head pounds, but she has to do this. Even with sweat threatening to drip into her eyes, even with her grip threatening to falter and send both of them to their graves.

“You’ve got this!” Isabelle shouts.

“You fall, I fall,” Al mutters. “You fall, I fall. I’ve got this.”

Al’s got this. Al kills the walker, Isabelle regains her footing, and by some goddamn miracle, they reach the top of the cliff. Al collapses against the rocks, panting, and manages to get her helmet off. She pushes her hand through her sweat soaked hair, cheek pressed to the ground. She hears Isabelle shedding her gear somewhere to her right, and Al squeezes her eyes shut. She continues to breathe too rapidly, feeling mildly sick. Even though she’s pressed to the ground, part of her still feels like she’s hanging hundreds of feet above the earth.

“Hey,” Isabelle says. “You alright?”

Al can’t answer. She can barely catch her breath. Her hands tremble, even as Al flattens her palms on the rocks. Al hears something else hit the ground, followed by the thudding of Isabelle’s boots. Isabelle drops to her knees next to Al then touches her palm to the side of Al’s face.

“Al. Come on,” Isabelle says uneasily. “You’re alright.”

Al’s eyes don’t open. She feels like she’s suffocating. Isabelle rolls Al onto her back and starts undoing the straps of her harness. Al feels Isabelle’s fingers at her neck, fumbling to get the top button of her shirt undone. Instinctively, Al reaches out and grabs a fistful of Isabelle’s jacket.

“Open your eyes,” Isabelle says gently. She doesn’t try to get Al to release her, but she stops trying to undress her. “Al, come on. We made it. You can breathe. Open your eyes.”

Al swallows hard and forces her eyes to open. She stares up at a clear blue sky, lips parted. She drops her eyes until they land on Isabelle’s face, and she slowly loosens her grip on the strange fabric of Isabelle’s jacket. Her breaths start to come easier as she stares into Isabelle’s face. Isabelle’s jaw sets, lips pressed together, but Al thinks she spots a flicker of concern in Isabelle’s eyes. Maybe. Or maybe she imagines it.

“You can breathe,” Isabelle says. Al manages a slight nod. “Good. You’re good.” Al nods again. The corner of Isabelle’s mouth twitches upward. Isabelle grasps onto Al’s shoulder. “Thanks for saving my life.”

Al nods, unable to form words. She finally releases Isabelle’s jacket, and Isabelle gets out of Al’s space. That seems to make it easier for Al to function again, and she struggles to prop herself up on her elbows. Isabelle doesn’t go far, taking a seat a few feet to Al’s left. She exhales heavily and unzips her jacket halfway, taking a moment to appreciate the gentle breeze. Al can’t help but stare at her. She doesn’t know how Isabelle is so…unshaken. She could’ve died – could’ve dropped a hundred feet and splattered against the ground – and she looks so unaffected by it.

“You killed him,” Al whispers. “Your partner. You killed him, and you don’t even care, do you? Just like you don’t care that you could’ve fallen to your death if I – if I’d failed.”

“You didn’t fail.”

“Not the point.”

Isabelle nods wearily. “Then what is?”

“You don’t care, but you – you – I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand.” Isabelle pauses, sparing a glance Al’s way. “But I do care. You don’t have to believe me.”

Al exhales. “Now what?”

“We get fuel.”

“Give me a minute.”

“We’ve got time.”

They don’t have time, but Al lets herself fall back against the rocks anyway. She stares up at the sky, more than aware that Isabelle’s gaze is on her. Al’s hands shake as she raises them to her face. She pushes her hair back from her forehead, accidentally grazing the unhealed cut in her forehead. She winces and drops her hands.

“I do care,” Isabelle says, so quietly Al barely hears her.

“Hmm?”

“I care,” Isabelle says. “I care that I killed my partner. I care that I could’ve died.”

“Okay.”

Isabelle inhales deeply. “His name was Beckett. He was my friend.”

Al turns sharply toward Isabelle, eyebrows raised. “You killed your friend?”

Isabelle’s jaw clenches. “I killed my friend.”

“Why?”

“He had to die.”

“He had to?”

Isabelle pushes herself to her feet and approaches Al. She holds her hand out. Warily, Al takes it and allows Isabelle to pull her up. Their hands are still clasped together when Isabelle answers, “I did my job. I killed him like I was supposed to. I think you of all people can understand that I was just doing my job.”

Al’s eyes search Isabelle’s face for any hint of emotion, but it’s all contained to her eyes. Al nods and lets go of Isabelle’s hand.

“So,” Al says. “Fuel.”

“This way.”

*

She saves Isabelle, then almost kills her. Al holds the trident bayonet attached to the end of Isabelle’s gun against Isabelle’s neck and thinks, just for a moment, if she kills Isabelle, she’s free. She can go back to her friends. Isabelle won’t be able to kill her if she kills Isabelle now.

She can’t do it. Her finger’s on the trigger, but she can’t pull it. Al sighs and pulls the gun away, slinging it over her shoulder. “I think I’ll hold onto this,” Al says. “For my operational security.”

“You really don’t get it.”

“Then fill me in.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then shut up and get the fuel,” Al grunts. She holds her hand out. Isabelle takes it, and Al pulls her up.

“We’re gonna have to camp up here,” Isabelle says. “It’ll be dark soon.”

Al barely slept last night, and she was as safe as she could get. “You get the fuel,” Al orders. “I’ll pitch the tent.”

*

Al pitches the tent, and Isabelle builds a fire with very little effort. Al has a feeling she’s pitching the tent for nothing once Isabelle unrolls her sleeping bag in front of the fire. Isabelle sits cross-legged on the sleeping bag, and Al decides it’s safe enough to leave Isabelle’s rifle in the tent and join her. Al sets up her own sleeping bag nearby, closer to the tent, in case Isabelle makes a break for the gun.

“Planning on sitting up all night or something?” Al asks.

“I don’t know,” Isabelle says. “I don’t get many moments like this.”

“Like…outside?”

Isabelle smiles, not looking away from the flames. “No. Quiet. Peaceful.”

“Where you’re from…it’s loud?”

“Nice try.”

Al grins. “Figured I had to try at least one more time.”

“You’re relentless.”

“Yeah, but it’s obviously not working.”

Isabelle smirks. “Obviously not,” she teases. She nudges Al’s leg with her fist. “Go ahead and keep trying, though. I’d love to see what you’ve got.”

Al laughs and runs her fingers through her hair. “For some reason I feel like that’d be a little pointless.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? What? I just need to figure out what makes you tick? Is that what you’re saying?”

Isabelle chuckles and shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You don’t like to talk about yourself,” Al says.

“Oh?”

“Just an observation. I get that it’s because of your top secret job or whatever, but I can make most people talk. I just need to figure out what works.”

“Yeah? And what works on most people?”

Al grins again. “That’s a secret.”

“Come on. We aren’t keeping secrets.”

They both laugh, and Al shakes her head. “Flattery,” she says. “Normally it’ll get you what you want. I have a feeling that you’re different, though.”

“Sorry.”

“No, actually…I kind of like it.”

Isabelle’s eyebrows pull together. “What?”

“Yeah. People are usually so predictable. I like a challenge once in a while.”

“So that’s how you see me? I’m a challenge? A puzzle to be solved?”

Al’s teeth sink into her lower lip. “Maybe,” she says, turning her gaze to the fire. “I have a feeling I won’t be alive much longer to attempt to solve it, though. Am I right?”

Isabelle doesn’t answer. She leans over and tosses another log onto the fire. Al clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“So I’m right,” Al says. “That’s okay. I get the feeling – never mind.”

“No,” Isabelle says. “Say it.”

“There’s no point.”

“So?”

Al sighs heavily. “I get the feeling that even if I _did_ solve the metaphorical puzzle…it wouldn’t get me anywhere, would it?”

“No, probably not.”

“Exactly.”

Isabelle unzips her jacket and slides out of it. She holds the jacket out. “You cold?”

“No.”

Isabelle throws the jacket toward the tent and stretches her legs out on the sleeping bag.

“The jacket,” Al says. “What’s it made of?”

Isabelle smiles wryly. “That’s a secret.”

“I thought we weren’t keeping secrets,” Al murmurs. “Apart from the big stuff, you know. Where your base is – what it is – and where the tape is. I thought everything else was fair game.”

“I never said that.”

Al shrugs. “This would be so much better with alcohol.”

“Hang on.”

Isabelle gets up, and Al twists around to watch her dig through the supplies. Al doesn’t want to get her hopes up, but – Isabelle comes back with a bottle of beer in her hand.

“You’re joking,” Al says.

“Nope.”

“I could cry.”

“Please don’t,” Isabelle says. She holds the bottle out, and Al grabs ahold of it. She freezes as her fingers cover Isabelle’s, and for a moment, they both hold the bottle in the small space between their bodies. Al raises her eyes to Isabelle’s face, but she’s as calm and collected as ever. “You gonna open it or what?” Isabelle asks softly.

“You mean I have to share?”

Isabelle smiles. Her eyebrow quirks upward then she gives a small shrug. “I guess not.”

Isabelle lets go of the bottle, slipping her fingers out from beneath Al’s. Al clears her throat and pops the cap off the bottle. Al takes a tentative sip, prepared for the beer to taste like the garbage Sarah’s been brewing. She’s pleasantly surprised; maybe, in another life, she’d even be willing to pay for a bottle of this beer at a bar somewhere.

God, she misses bars.

Al swallows another mouthful of beer, nodding her approval, and holds the bottle out to Isabelle. “Not bad,” Al admits. “Much better than what my friends brew.”

“Your friends brew?”

“Well, they try to. Our actual brewer…died. A while back.”

“I’m sorry.”

Al shrugs. “I didn’t know him very well.”

Isabelle takes a drink and hands the bottle back to Al. “Finish it,” Isabelle says. “There’s more.”

Al doesn’t argue. She finishes the bottle as Isabelle gets back up to retrieve the case. Al stares at the remaining three bottles as Isabelle stares at her. Al swaps the empty bottle for a full one, pops the cap off, and holds it out to Isabelle.

“I can’t drink alone,” Al says.

“If this is your way of trying to get me to talk, it won’t work,” Isabelle says.

Al smiles, but it doesn’t last long. “That’s not what I’m doing,” she says. Isabelle nods and motions toward the case. Al helps herself to another beer, and they drink in silence, watching the fire.

“You really aren’t going to talk?” Isabelle questions.

“You said you weren’t going to answer my questions,” Al says. She sets her bottle aside and folds her hands together in her lap. “I’m taking the hint.”

Isabelle tilts her head to the side, eyes searching Al’s face. “I didn’t take you as the giving up type.”

Al shrugs. “Tell me or don’t tell me. It doesn’t really matter either way. I’ll be dead within the next twenty-four hours.”

Isabelle flinches, but her eyes don’t leave Al’s face. “Anything I tell you…it’ll make what we have vulnerable.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

Al cracks a smile. “No. Not at all. But you said your organization is the future, and we’re already the past. I can’t say I agree with that evaluation of our situation, but you seem to believe it. You killed your partner for it.”

“I hesitated.”

“You hesitated?” Al questions. “You mean you gave him a chance?”

Isabelle pauses. “I hesitated, but I did my job.”

“You gave him a chance to kill you instead.”

Isabelle sighs softly. “I didn’t give him anything.”

“He couldn’t kill you first.”

“Apparently not.”

Al inhales sharply as their eyes lock. She can’t read Isabelle – at least, not with any certainty. It’s…off-putting. Al has spent years of her life perfecting her craft, and that includes being able to read people. Very rarely does she come across people she can’t easily figure out.

“You wanted to die?” Al guesses.

“No,” Isabelle answers immediately.

“Then?”

Isabelle pinches the bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb. “I didn’t want to kill my friend,” Isabelle says. “I think you can understand that.”

“He didn’t want to kill you, either.”

“And he didn’t.”

“You did your job,” Al says quietly. “I get it. I did mine, too, even though it meant I didn’t get to see my brother before he died.” Al pauses. “Do you regret it? Killing Beckett?”

“Do you regret not seeing your brother?” Isabelle retorts.

“Yes.”

Isabelle balks. “I – I don’t know if I regret killing him. It’s not that simple.”

“Sometimes it is.”

“Nothing’s simple anymore,” Isabelle says.

“We can make it simple,” Al says.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…why can’t we just be two women sitting in front of a campfire? Hmm? What’s stopping us?”

“Reality?”

Al laughs. “We can pretend – just for tonight – that things are simple, can’t we? We can pretend we’re just two women sitting in front of a campfire, even though we aren’t. Even though shit will get real in the morning again. I think we can let one night be easy.”

Isabelle smiles, a strange glint in her eyes. “Just two women sitting in front of a campfire?”

“Why not?” Al says. She looks off into the sky, at all the stars they never used to be able to see in the city, and adds, “Everything’s so ugly now. But this is nice. Why can’t we just forget about everything for one night?”

Isabelle smiles, but there’s something sad about it. “I would’ve much rather met you before all of this,” she admits. “Or in whatever it’ll be after. You get it.”

Al nods, but she hesitates. “I thought we were just two women sitting in front of a campfire?” she teases. “Living a life where everything is simple and nice.”

“Why would we be camping if everything is simple and nice?” Isabelle questions.

Al laughs. “Because we got thrown out of the bar and we were evicted from our apartments and now we live off the grid.”

Isabelle laughs, shaking her head. “You’re putting too much thought into this.”

“You’re not putting enough thought into this.”

“I don’t like having to imagine lives outside of the one I have to live.”

Al pauses. “What do you mean _have to_ live? The world’s over, isn’t it?”

“For some people.”

“Not for you?”

Isabelle’s jaw clenches. “Not for me.”

Al reaches over and grasps onto Isabelle’s knee before she’s fully thought through her actions. For a split second, she thinks Isabelle’s going to break every bone in her hand. But Isabelle’s eyes don’t leave the fire as she links her fingers through Al’s and holds on tight. Al’s heart beats faster in her chest. Isabelle doesn’t say anything, still doesn’t even look at her.

“It doesn’t have to matter tonight,” Al whispers.

Isabelle gives a curt nod and manages to tighten her hold on Al’s hand. Al suppresses a wince, squeezing back instead.

“Okay,” Isabelle says. “But in the morning, shit gets real again. The reclamation team will be here in less than twenty-four hours.”

“I know.”

Isabelle starts to let go of Al’s hand, but Al catches Isabelle’s wrist before she can pull away. Isabelle looks up, eyebrows raised. Al’s lips part, but whatever she was going to say dies in her throat. Something about the look on Isabelle’s face makes whatever Al had to say seem unimportant.

“You alright?” Al asks instead.

Isabelle nods and gently pulls her wrist free of Al’s grasp. “Fine. I just –” Isabelle hesitates.

“You just?”

“If we’re going to pretend we’re just two normal people sitting around a campfire instead of a journalist and a soldier…”

“There’s no _if_ ,” Al says. “We _are_ pretending we’re two normal people.” She extends her hand toward Isabelle, grinning. “Hi. I’m Al.”

Isabelle fights off a smile but shakes Al’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Al.”

Al laughs. “Come on. You’ve got to give me your name.”

Isabelle shakes her head. “I can’t do that.”

“Nothing? Not even just the first letter?”

“Nope.”

“If I guess it, will you tell me?”

Isabelle busts out laughing. She hasn’t released Al’s hand. “What are we, five?”

“Come on. Just give me a hint.”

“No.”

Al thinks for a moment. “Maybe you look like a…Leah?”

“No.”

“Samantha?”

“No.”

Al purses her lips and taps her fingers against Isabelle’s wrist. “Allison?”

“No.”

“Sarah?”

Isabelle laughs. “Al, come on. You’re not gonna get it.”

“So it’s something unusual?”

“No! Stop,” Isabelle says.

Al smiles wryly. “Hayley? Jordan? Katherine? Taylor?”

“No.”

“Am I even close?” Al laughs.

“Not really, no.”

“Fine,” Al says. She pulls her hand back from Isabelle’s and runs it through her hair, shaking her head. “No hint?”

Isabelle inhales sharply. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Not even if I tell you something about me first?” Al asks softly.

“I can’t.”

“Darn. Then what can you tell me?”

“You’re very persistent,” Isabelle says. “I can tell you one thing.”

“Yeah?”

Isabelle motions for Al to lean closer, and Al does eagerly. “The state I’m from shares the same first letter as my name,” Isabelle says, lips nearly brushing Al’s ear.

“What? That’s not even a hint! You could be from any state!” Al blurts.

They both laugh, and Al grabs onto Isabelle’s shoulder to steady herself, dropping her forehead against the back of her hand. They keep laughing, even though it’s really not that funny. Maybe it’s because it’s late. Maybe Al’s afraid if she stops laughing, silence will settle between them and she won’t know what to say. Maybe Al realizes how close she is to Isabelle, and now she doesn’t know how to move out of Isabelle’s space without making it obvious.

Their laughter starts to die down, and Al keeps her forehead against her hand on Isabelle’s shoulder, eyes closed.

“So,” Al murmurs. “What state are you from?”

“The most boring fucking state in the country.”

“Nebraska.”

“No.”

“Iowa?”

“No.”

“Kansas? Even if I name it, you won’t tell me, right?”

“Right,” Isabelle chuckles. “Might as well give up now.”

Al pauses. She can smell the faint scent of detergent clinging to Isabelle’s shirt. Al can’t remember the last time she did laundry. “Wyoming,” Al says.

“Al.”

“South Dakota?”

“ _Al_.”

Al lifts her head, eyebrows raised. Her breath hitches in her throat as she realizes she’s accidentally placed her nose mere inches from Isabelle’s. “Hmm?” Al hums.

“I guess I’m not from the most boring state in the country, since you just named…five? And you didn’t guess right.”

“Give me another hint.”

“We should probably sleep.”

“Not tired,” Al dismisses.

“So…what? We’re gonna sit up all night while you make your way through the 50 states and try to guess my name?”

“We can,” Al says, smirking. “Won’t bother me.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Why? You got something better to do?”

Isabelle hesitates. “Actually –”

Al raises her eyebrows. “If you have an idea, I’d love to hear it.”

Isabelle hesitates, wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Throw some more wood on the fire first.”

Al glances toward the fire. Reluctantly, she leans out of Isabelle’s space to throw another log on the flames and prods it with a stick until the flames surge higher. “There,” Al announces. “Fire. Now what –”

Isabelle leans in suddenly, placing her hand on Al’s thigh to steady herself, and kisses Al before she can finish her sentence. Al’s more than happy to shut up, instinctively bringing her hand to Isabelle’s neck. Isabelle shudders and fumbles with the top button of Al’s shirt.

Al shifts back just enough to breathe, “Wait. I don’t even know your name.”

“My name’s not important.”

“Of course it is.”

Isabelle gives a slight shake of her head, pressing her palm flat to Al’s chest. “Not now,” Isabelle whispers. “Not while we’re just two normal people.”

“Okay.”

Isabelle starts to pull back. “If you don’t –”

“No. Shut up,” Al insists. “Kiss me again.”

A smile flickers on Isabelle’s face. Al’s hands go to Isabelle’s neck again, and Isabelle hisses, “Your hands are freezing.”

“Warm them up.”

“We gotta watch for walkers –”

Al shakes her head. “Get in the tent. I didn’t pitch it so it can sit there all night.”

“Go.”

Al drags herself into the tent, working on getting her boots off before she’s even inside, until her eyes land on Isabelle’s gun. Isabelle reaches it first, grabbing it before Al can react, but Isabelle tosses it just outside of the tent and zips it shut behind them.

“We’re unarmed,” Al breathes.

Isabelle smirks. “I’m never unarmed, sweetheart.”

She reaches behind her and pulls her sidearm out of her waistband. She drops it in the corner of the tent and grabs Al by the front of the shirt, pulling her back in. Al works on untucking Isabelle’s shirt from her pants, pressing her lips to Isabelle’s jaw.

“We don’t have to rush,” Isabelle breathes. “There’s time.”

“Never enough.”

Isabelle spares a quick glance at her watch before unstrapping it and sliding it toward her gun. “We have time,” Isabelle assures Al.

“Okay, but unbutton my shirt faster. I haven’t had sex in forever.”

Isabelle laughs. “Yeah, me either.”

Isabelle finishes unbuttoning Al’s shirt, and Al fights her way out of it and throws it somewhere behind her. Al unbuckles Isabelle’s belt and pops the button on her pants before Isabelle pins Al beneath her and kisses her again. Al forgets what she’s doing, grasping at Isabelle’s hips instead. Whether they’ve got time or not, they still shed their clothing as fast as possible. Al wouldn’t say they’re _rushing_ , exactly, but there is a certain sense of urgency. A feeling like if they slow down, reality will come crashing down.

Al will probably be dead before night falls again, but somehow she manages to forget this while she’s coming on Isabelle’s face. She doesn’t remember again until they both lie on their backs, panting, staring at the top of the tent. Al pushes her hand into her sweat dampened hair and thinks _well, at least one good thing happened before I die_. Al lets her hand fall to her side and closes her eyes, focusing on breathing normally again. Apart from their breathing, it’s silent.

Al’s half asleep when Isabelle murmurs, “Are you okay?”

Al startles, eyes popping open, and she says, “Fine. You?”

“Fine.”

Al nods, swallows, closes her eyes again. Now that there’s not a warm body pressed to her, the cold starts to settle in. She considers finding her clothes, but before she moves, Isabelle sits up. Al watches her cautiously, but Isabelle just picks up her jacket and lies back down.

“Take this,” Isabelle says gently. “It’s cold.”

Al doesn’t argue. She sits up enough to slide her arms into the strange jacket and pops the collar. She leaves the jacket unzipped, but it’s oddly warm anyway. Al’s eyes close again, her body begging for some amount of rest. She’s mostly asleep when she’s jolted awake again, this time when Isabelle brushes her fingertips across Al’s forehead, carefully avoiding the untreated cut. Isabelle strokes her fingers through Al’s hair, and Al relaxes, exhaling softly.

Right before Al drops fully into sleep, she distantly hears Isabelle whisper, “My name is Isabelle, and I’m from Indiana.”

*

Al thinks it’s all a dream. She wakes with a start because something nudges her arm, and Al lifts her head, blinking until her vision clears. She touches her hands to her chest, confused by the strange material she feels. She looks down at a jacket that doesn’t belong to her and literally nothing else. Her clothes are stacked neatly in a pile next to her head. Al’s eyes fall on the tent opening. It’s unzipped, and a tall woman stands just outside, dressed in black pants made of the same material as the jacket Al’s wearing and a black shirt. The woman covers up any evidence of their fire then tucks her shirt into her pants before buckling her belt.

“Al, come on,” Isabelle calls over her shoulder. “We’ve got to get moving.”

Right. Shit gets real again.

It hurts more than Al expected.

Al gets her clothes back on, swapping Isabelle’s jacket for her shirt, buttoning it to her neck. She fixes the collar and wonders if she imagined Isabelle saying her name or if it really happened. Al combs her fingers through her hair and notices Isabelle’s watch lying in the corner of the tent. Al frowns and picks it up gently, taking a moment to study the face. She’s a little disappointed that it’s pretty much an ordinary digital watch.

“Hey,” Al says as she steps out of the tent. “You forgot this.”

Al hands Isabelle the watch, which she takes with a nod, then holds out the jacket. Isabelle hesitates but takes her jacket back. “Ready?” Isabelle asks.

“The tent –”

“Leave it.”

Al’s eyes drift to the ground where Isabelle’s rifle lies. Al bends over and picks it up, but to Isabelle’s surprise, Al holds the rifle out. Isabelle takes it wordlessly and slings it over her shoulder.

“Follow me,” Al says.

*

Al hands over the tape. Isabelle promptly destroys it.

Al doesn’t know what comes next.

She takes in her surroundings. The sounds of the river is pleasant, comforting. They’re isolated, so a gunshot shouldn’t draw too much attention to Isabelle once Al’s dead. It’s a nice place to die.

Al wonders if her friends will ever find her body.

“Wait,” Al says suddenly. “Before you do anything –” Al digs through her bag and comes up with the tape. “Take it. Please.”

Isabelle’s eyebrows pull together, but she holds her hand out. Al places the tape in Isabelle’s palm and holds her hand over it as their eyes lock.

“Make sure his death means something, someday,” Al says. She pulls her hand away, and Isabelle flips the tape over. She reads the label then lifts her eyes to Al’s face and gives an almost imperceptible nod.

Al turns her back to Isabelle and inhales deeply. She hears Isabelle pull her sidearm, and her brain suddenly kicks back into survival mode.

“Isabelle – wait,” Al says. She whips back around in time to see Isabelle startle at hearing her name then falter. The gun’s in her hand, but she hasn’t even flicked the safety off yet. “You don’t have to do this,” Al says. “You don’t have to kill me. You don’t have to go back!” Al takes a few steps closer. Isabelle’s jaw clenches, but she lets Al move into her space. “You can come with me,” Al says. “We can stay together.”

“Al…we don’t even know each other,” Isabelle says quietly.

“But I want to know you!” Al protests.

Isabelle sighs, unable to look Al in the eye. “Al –”

“We can go,” Al insists, cupping Isabelle’s cheek in her hand. Isabelle’s eyes close, and she exhales softly through her nose. “We can run off somewhere no one will ever find us.”

“Al, you don’t get it. No one walks away. No one. They’ll kill me before I get out of the state.”

“We can do it,” Al insists. Isabelle opens her eyes and meets Al’s gaze. Al swallows hard. “We can try –”

“They will kill _both_ of us, Al. Within seventy-two hours. I have to go back.”

Al presses her lips together but gives a curt nod. “Alright.”

“Al,” Isabelle sighs. “I hate it as much as you do –”

“You aren’t the one who’s about to be killed,” Al retorts.

In response, Isabelle throws the gun in her hand aside. It skids in the dirt, coming to a stop next to the riverbank. Isabelle motions toward the gun and breathes, “Get to it first.”

Al shakes her head. “No. I won’t. You’re gonna have to kill me. It’s okay. I get it. You’re just doing your job.”

Isabelle inhales shakily. “I can’t,” she whispers. “I can’t do it.”

Al nods and grasps onto Isabelle’s shoulders. “You don’t have a choice.”

Isabelle gnaws on her lower lip, staring at the ground. “Maybe I do.” Her eyes lift to meet Al’s. “You have to swear you won’t say _anything_. Not about me, not about where I come from or what we do –”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Al says faintly. “Given that I barely know anything.”

“No,” Isabelle says sharply. “You know _nothing_. I don’t exist.”

“Right.” Al pauses. “You’re sure you don’t want to –”

“Of course I want to run away with you,” Isabelle says. She shakes her head, and a single tear rolls down her cheek. “But I can’t.”

“I know,” Al says. She touches her palm to Isabelle’s cheek then briskly walks to the spot where the gun lies. She picks it up, unable to stop herself from grimacing, and she returns to Isabelle. She presses the gun into Isabelle’s hand and closes Isabelle’s fingers around the grip. “You might need that,” Al says.

Isabelle jams the gun into its holster at her hip and immediately takes Al’s face in her hands. She kisses Al like it’s the last time she ever will – and frankly, it probably is. Al grasps at the jacket at Isabelle’s waist and holds on. Al won’t be able to process everything that’s happened until later.

Isabelle pulls back and hands Al her bag. Al slings it over her shoulder without a word. For a moment, they lock eyes. They don’t speak – they don’t have to. Al presses her lips together and gives a small nod. Isabelle pulls her gloves on, secures her rifle across her back, and picks up the cans of fuel.

They walk together. Al feels like she should say something, but nothing comes to mind. When they part ways, they don’t look back.

That’s not true. Al does, once. Just a quick glance, just before Isabelle’s out of sight. As soon as she looks back, she thinks she shouldn’t have.

*

Calling for Morgan and Alicia on the radio is relieving, but it simultaneously feels like a mistake. The relief wins out, and she hugs Morgan. She’s still got her arms around Alicia when the helicopter takes off. Alicia pulls back, confusion lacing her features, as Al’s eyes lift toward the sky.

Isabelle’s still close, but not close enough that they can see the helicopter fly off from their spot in the woods.

“Is that –?” Alicia begins to ask. She cuts herself off, looking between Morgan and Al for an answer.

“I don’t know,” Al says. “Did you see anything?”

“No, but – that had to be some kind of aircraft,” Alicia says.

Al exhales heavily and shakes her head. “Well, whatever it is, sounds like it’s gone.”

“Well, shit!” Alicia exclaims.

“You didn’t see anyone while you were gone, did you?” Morgan asks.

“No,” Al lies. “Just the dead.”

Morgan sighs. “You’re right. Whoever that was, we’ve missed them. We need to find another way out of here.”

Al nods. “It’s too bad,” she says. “Maybe if we had a real pilot, we wouldn’t have crashed in the first place.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Alicia says. She knocks her hand against Al’s arm and smiles. “You did your best.”

“We’ll find another way out,” Morgan assures them. “But in the meantime, we’ve got some people for you to meet.”

The group of kids greets Al with unexpected enthusiasm, and as she attempts to shake every one of their hands, she almost forgets about the pain settling somewhere deep in her chest. She forgets until they reach the rest of their friends, until June throws herself into Al’s arms and starts speaking too quickly for Al’s exhausted brain to keep up with.

“June,” Al interrupts, gently, as June prods at the cut in her forehead. “I’m okay. I think – I think I just need to lie down.”

“Right,” June agrees. “Come on. I know a quiet spot.”

*

Al lies awake, as tired as she is, unable to stop thinking about Isabelle. But she needs to get it together, before her friends catch on. She needs to find a way to be okay.

She’s not sure she can do it.

*

The engine fires up, and Isabelle turns the tape over in her hand. She stares at the label and swallows hard before she tucks the tape securely into her jacket.

_“Ground Seventeen, what’s your status?”_

Isabelle picks up the receiver and replies, “I’m inbound.”

She barely hears the response as the helicopter lifts off. She lets herself think about Al one last time, and then she’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and I'll respond as soon as possible!


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